“Beauty is danger.”

-Aiyek saying

 

The Tits Up set down in a clearing outside a charming fishing village, fittingly called Fillet. Quintilla, Kurko, Yin, and Stephan disembarked, leaving the rest to keep an eye on the ship.

Fillet lay on the eastern coast of Xorro, which meant that Barandi had likely come this way on his round trip. Their task was to question the locals and confirm Barandi’s path to narrow down the parameters of their search.

Stephan had another thing in mind. He was on the lookout for some fresh fish. Maybe some cuts of tuna, or something a little more exotic he could try his hand at. The plan was to cook a proper feast for the crew once they had all the completed treasure map in their possession.

They approached Fillet under hard glances and muttered curses from the locals. Most of them seemed to be half-breeds of some kind, with slimy skin, fleshy lips and pale eyes. Their bodies were bloated and pale, blubbery like seals. Wet gills fluttered on their necks.

They weren’t lubbards, that much was plain. They were something else.

“A blessing of the Deep Gods,” Kazzul explained.

“I question if that term applies,” Stephan muttered, struggling not to stare.

“It’s always like that with them. Their blessings can be… hard to stomach. But for villages like this, sometimes it’s the only way they can keep going. To breathe and thrive underwater means they can fish this coast better than any humans. Enough income to sustain this blighted stain of a town.”

Torch spat. “I can taste the fish already.”

Most of the houses were built atop poles on the water, connected by wooden bridges. A wide dirt path led to the main hub, surrounded by rows of huge bones on both sides, jutting out of the earth like white, leafless trees.

Ribs, Stephan realized, of some long-dead beast. Judging by the length of the ribcage, it had to be dozens of meters long.

Stormbreather, he thought. Must be. Only creature this big that stalks these waters.

Townsfolk peeked out of the few groups of houses that stuck to dry land. Big, lifeless eyes peered through darkened doorways. Sharp teeth glinted in the sun, gnashing.

It reminded Stephan of the lakata. He shuddered.

“Let’s split up,” Quintilla said. “I’d rather not stay here longer than I have to. Don’t feel like being sacrificed on an altar in the name of a pile of worms.”

“That checks out,” Kazzul said. “The Deep Gods do love the occasional human sacrifice.”

Stephan swallowed hard. “Are you joking? Have you never read those horror novels? Splitting up is the worst thing you could do in a time like this.” His eyes drifted to the shoreline, fish the size of men hung on racks from bloody metal hooks. “They’ll pick us off for sure.”

“Nonsense, Mr. Lordling,” Quintilla said. “You’ve got Yin with you. If something happens, just hide behind her.”

“He’s good at that,” Yin remarked.

Stephan threw up his hands. “Fine! All I’m saying is, we’ll be worm food at this rate.”

Quintilla grew serious. “Call us over if it gets dicey. We won’t be far.”

The captain and her first mate wandered off to the tangle of waterborne houses, followed by a growing trail of locals.

“Well, I suppose we should get started,” Stephan said, turning. “With any luck, we—”

He started when he came face to face with a local, standing no more than two hands’ breadths away. It was hard to determine his age, but his face was wrinkled and puckered, mucus leaking from distended orifices. He puffed on a pipe, regarding Stephan with large, foggy eyes.

Stephan went stiff as the grave, waiting as the man looked him over. He chattered something in heavily accented Estaroso, and Stephan smiled and nodded in return.

The man rubbed the lapel of his suit between two fingers, leaving a trail of mucus. He said something, chuckled, and walked away, leaving an acrid smell of smoke.

The other locals disappeared into their houses, slamming doors and shuttering windows.

Stephan dared to move again, letting out a sharp breath. “Did you catch any of that?” he asked.

Yin shrugged. “How should I know? Seems like they decided to postpone the barbecue, though.”

Stephan looked around for someone to question about Barandi’s whereabouts. The village seemed suddenly deserted. Not a soul in sight. The silence was nearly complete, only broken by Kurko’s rumbling voice in the distance.

All the doors burst open and dozens of locals streamed onto the path, weaving between the bleached ribs. Stephan reached for his gun before he realized some of them were carrying platters laden with food. A few of the men sang a raucous melody in Estaroso—not well, but with great gusto. A pair of fish-faced women caught Stephan by the arm. They led him around and around in an impromptu dance, threading a necklace of wedge-shaped teeth over his head.

“Seems they like you,” Yin said, hands resting on the pommels of her swords. “They must think you look juicy.”

“Not funny!” Stephan hissed.

He reluctantly let himself be led around, eventually seated on an old barrel in a patch of yellowed weeds that served as the village square. The older man who had approached him before pulled out another and sat opposite Stephan, while a woman brought a rug for Yin to sit cross-legged.

Stephan was offered countless delicacies. Jellied eels, grilled crab, pickled kelp, bugshark eyes, marrow soup. Plates, bowls, and platters passed before him in a haze. Whenever he refused to eat, the women would chirp and chatter in his ears, haranguing him until he politely took a bite.

Once he had tasted most of the food and his throat was thoroughly coated in greasy slime, the elder had a young woman brought out to stand next to him. Mostly human-looking, with patchy black hair and bare, webbed feet.

He spoke, and the woman translated into passable Low Elandran.

“Welcome,” she said, “to Fillet.”

“Quite the welcome indeed,” Stephan said, holding back a putrid burp. “Give my compliments to your cooks.”

The woman translated and the women giggled, curtsying like court ladies.

The elder spoke. “We do not get many visitors,” the woman translated, “but we always welcome them with a good meal and open arms. Unless they are Concordians, of course.”

Stephan gave a nervous laugh. “No Concordians here. Nope.”

We’re going into a soup, he thought. I knew it.

But the elder seemed oblivious to his pale skin and businesslike appearance, going on about the many virtues of his village.

Did another ship come through here?” Stephan asked. “Maybe a few days ago? The captain is a lubbard.”

The elder waved him aside. “Table such prattle for later. Tell me, what have you brought from the big city? We are always interested in trade.”

Stephan scratched his head. They didn’t have much in the way of tradeable goods. “Uh, weapons? Ammo?”

A harrumph. “No need, no need. Cells? We need red anima. Lights. Heat. Do you have this?”

Torch did have a stockpile of assorted enchantments and surplus anima cells.

Stephan shrugged. “Possibly. If we’re going to make a deal, I want to know about that captain. Tell me if he came through or not.”

The elder clapped his hands together. “A deal! The man you are seeking—Barandi, yes?”

“That’s the one.”

“He was here two days ago. The man likes his fun.” Half the women in the group, including the translator, blushed. “Generous. Charming. We await the day he returns.”

Stephan gave Yin a high five. “Good. What way was he heading?”

“South. Following the coast. The ship was burning slow—he won’t be far.”

That matched what they had already assumed. They were closing in.

He had Yin fetch what the villagers what they needed. Apparently, Torch wasn’t too keen on that, but she came out with a box of miscellaneous enchantry regardless. The villagers paid scraps, nothing near what the equipment was worth, but they insisted that he take something else. A rare catch, dredged the very same morning from the depths.

It was a red, bloated thing that they brought out, with a toothy mouth that took up nearly half its body. Tiny fins still twitched. A single glassy eye stared accusingly at Stephan.

A jabbermaw. Highly sought-after because of the mucus it excreted, which induced euphoria and mild hallucinations in anyone who consumed it. A single specimen could easily fetch ten thousand standards on the market, when one was available at all.

The villagers handed it over like it was just some curiosity. Stephan couldn’t keep the grin off his face when he accepted the gift.

Quintilla and Kurko returned, coming up the path. The captain was wet to her ankles, boots squelching with every step.

“He was here—” Stephan started.

“Two days ago, yeah,” Quintilla said. “They couldn’t stop talking about him. Very friendly, these people.”

Stephan chuckled. “That they are.”

“Apparently, he fucked his way through half the women and men of Fillet while he was here. Given his reputation, I’m ready to believe that.”

“He’s a philanderer?”

“Oh yeah. Imagine our dear pilot, then double that.”

“Damn. Well, we know his course. Let’s track him down.”

Quintilla smiled and began walking up the trail. “Let’s.” She glanced back. “By the way, what’s that ugly-ass slimeball you’re holding?”

*****

They chased Barandi for another day, burning hard. A school of bladder-wurms followed the ship, hiding beneath the wings. They kept the unruly Shipbreaker Sea to their port, the yellowy Xorro landscape starboard.

The captain assured the crew they were getting close.

They stopped for a group of plain-garbed travelers stranded upon a barren cliff. They turned out to be monks all the from Majin, having taken oaths of both silence and celibacy.

The former never became a problem, as it was clear from their rumpled robes and heady complexions that they had broken the latter.

Barandi had come through here. Not long ago, either, judging by the state of the monks. They were still recovering from… whatever Barandi had done to convince a gaggle of monks to abandon their oaths.

With this new information, the captain had the crew set off immediately, full speed south.

She had the scent of treasure on the wind.